Love Balloons Twinkies
by JustThatOneGirl1815
Summary: This is a Soulmate UA for Peter Maximoff X Reader where every night you receive a message (in the form of a tattoo on your arm) that says something your soulmate said that day. It will be explained more later. The reader is a mutant who's had a very hard life and just wants to meet her soulmate— the only ray of sunshine in her life. Cred. To MArvel and X Men. Rated T for language.


You never really paid attention to the markings on your arm that appeared every evening at 7 PM. For the longest time, you didn't care. No one ever told you what they meant. "That's your soulmate speaking to you," they would say. That was a lie. It wasn't until 5th grade that the teachers held an assembly and explained to everyone what the marks meant. Most of the kids in your grade knew what they were, how they worked. Most of the kids were bored by the assembly. But not you. You sat forward in your seat, staring down the teachers as they explained the sentences that appeared on your arm every night for five minutes straight before disappearing again. It was only after that assembly that you started paying attention.

 _ _What do you mean, I'm different?__

You stared at the words written on your arm. It was 7:01 at night and this was the first time you'd payed attention to the words on your arm. You could hear the echos of your parent's yelling downstairs, but for once, you didn't care. All you could do was stare. He was different. You sighed, it wasn't helpful. Lots of people were different. You were different. Until today, you hardly knew what a soulmate even was. Maybe you would have had your parents taken the time to stop arguing and to start talking to you. Everyone was different in one way or another. You wondered what made him so different.

 **December 21st, 1969**

You were alone. Your parents had divorced and neither of them wanted you. You were only ten and a half years old. Ten and a half years old and you found yourself out on the curb in the snow, a duffel bag in one hand, a thin jacket over your shoulders, and a well worn notebook in the other. Tears threatened your eyes, but you held them back. This wasn't the time to cry, this was the time to find somewhere safe and warm. You had to find somewhere fast because it was 6:45 and right about now you needed the dose of happiness you got from looking at the words on your arm. You stumbled through the snow storm, desperate.

You found yourself in a coffee shop, a minute to seven. You had no money, but upon seeing your red, runny nose and the duffel bag in your hand, the barista had made you a hot chocolate and sandwich free of charge. She also gave you a pen, upon request. You glanced at the clock, not long now. You opened your notebook to the next slot, marked for today. You rolled up your sleeve and watched as the words appeared.

 _Mom! I can never have enough Twinkies!_

You smiled and scribbled down the line. When you went back to pull down your sleeve, you saw more writing had appeared. This happened one time a month, you would get more of a conversation than just one line. You loved these nights.

 _Peter, there is a fine line between a reasonable amount of Twinkies and an unreasonable amount. You haven't just crossed this line, you've completely skipped over it and found the line marked "Unhealthy amount of sweets." You don't need this many sweets, Peter._

 _I know, but... it's just too easy to get to them. It's like when you used to put the cookie jar on top of the fridge and I'd climb on the counter and get to them anyways. Except... now everything is like that. And I just get so bored._

 _I know, honey. I know. But you're going to have to find a way to deal with this. You can't just keep running in and taking stuff that's not yours. Even if you are bored._

The letters stopped appearing. You read over the conversation a few times before scribbling it all down as fast as possible. It didn't happen often, but conversations as long as this were possible. You sighed, and gazed fondly at the words on your arm, written in a font that was so beautiful, so graceful. They faded away again and your eyes snapped to the clock on the wall. 7:05. You put your head in your hands and began to cry. You wondered what miserable words Peter would be seeing on his arm today.

 **Peter's POV:**

Peter looked at his arm. His foot tapped rapidly against the floor. The clock moved too slowly. That was the issue. That was always the issue. It moved too slowly for him, and he moved too fast for it. 7:00. His eyes snapped to the bare skin of his arm. Except this time, a quote didn't appear. All that he read was one simple word surrounded by asterisks.

* _Sobbing_ *

He stared at the word. Sobbing. What had happened in your life that the only thing worth his notice was that you were sad? A pang in his chest and a wetness on his face alerted him to his emotions upon seeing the word. He didn't want you to be sad. His soulmate, whose name was never written, whose life was so miserable, was sad so often. But today had been the worst. Peter sat down on his bed, clutching his arm like it was his lifeline. A tether between him and you. He wanted to be there for you, to comfort you. But he couldn't, because he had no idea who you were.

The words faded away and Peter looked up. 7:05 was his least favorite minute of the day, because that was when his favorite moments stopped.

 **2 Years Later:**

Peter looked at his arm. He was 14 years old and still he found himself desperately waiting for a message from his soulmate. Anything. He felt pathetic, not even knowing your name. Only knowing that you were sad... and alone. He was alone too. If only they could be alone together. He glanced at his arm and saw the writing had already appeared. He cursed aloud and read the line:

 _What's happening to me? What... what's happening? Someone... help me. I don't know what's going on. Why can I do this... I shouldn't be able to do this._

Peter looked at the writing over and over again before it disappeared. Could you be...? No. You couldn't be... But... what? What if you were like him? What if you were different?

 **(Y/N)'s POV**

 **1973 — Age, 15**

You smiled and looked around. Today was a good day. Good days didn't happen often. You got a raise, which didn't happened often for you, as young as you were. This meant you could buy a new notebook for all of your quotes from Peter. That's exactly what you did, too. In your hand was now clutched a silver and blue notebook with the 1,000 empty pages. It was certainly the biggest you'd bought yet. You headed back for your flat, a small thing that you shared with the barista from that fateful night in the coffee shop. She'd taken you in, cared for you. She was nicer than anyone else had been. She didn't question you about your parents, although sometimes you wanted her to. Just to vent, get it all out. To let her in on the depressing heap of trash that was your life. But you didn't. There was only one person, other than your parents, that might have a clue as to what really happened in your life. His name was Peter.

You walked in the front door after unlocking it and set off for your room. Belle wasn't home yet. She never was. She worked late at night and never came back home until 10:00, at the earliest.

You set down your new notebook and opened it to the first page. You grabbed your favorite pen, the one Belle had bought you the first Christmas you had spent together. No one had ever bothered with Christmas presents much in your family. Just yelling. Always the yelling.

You looked down at your arm to see the letters slowly appearing.

 _Prison break? That's illegal, you know._

 _Well... only if you get caught._

 _So, what's in it for me?_

 _You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon._

It took you a moment to register the words. It was only after you'd copied it down, the words had faded, and only when you were halfway to the kitchen did you realize.

"Wait? WHAT!" You stopped mid-step and turned around so quickly, your knee popped. You threw open the new journal and stared at the words. Pentagon. Prison break. Illegal. The words tumbled through your head, an avalanche of confusion. You knew Peter didn't have the best track record, but who in the world had decided to...

You stopped once again. You looked down at your body. Different. Peter was different. He was different like you... like he could do things no one else could. Things that made no sense. Things like phase through walls or... become very good at stealing. Twinkies, specifically. You put the puzzle pieces together in your mind. All the scraps of information you'd gotten about him over the years, most of them made sense now. He was like you, and he was fast.

You resumed your trek to the kitchen to make some dinner and eat it while watching the tv.

You turned the tv on, it was on the news channel. You sighed... you wanted Star Trek. But then, something caught your eye.

"Instead, I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours." The man on the tv spoke. You leaned forward.

You didn't know it then, and you wouldn't know it for another ten years, but the man you'd just seen on the television. The man holding multiple guns to the President's head. He was your soulmates father. Peter's father.

 **Peter POV**

 **5 Years Later— 1978**

Peter looked at his arm again. God, when was he going to meet you? It was driving him insane. Everyday he would wait for one little 5 minute span. Just to get a hint about who his soulmate was or anything about you, really. He wanted to make sure you were okay, most of all. He found himself in a constant state of worry for you. Sure, it had gotten better over the last seven years, but you still had your down days. The days when you and Belle fought and you went back to your room crying. Or those days when his soulmate couldn't stand it anymore and you broke down. He hated those days, he didn't like to read about your pain and not be able to help.

He waited for the words, patiently hoping for something good. He wanted today to be a good day. A day where the line would say something like, "Sir, this is Baskin Robins. We serve ice cream, not cheeseburgers." He loved those days.

Instead, he got a broken line and a plea.

 _What do you mean she's dead? She can't be- I don't- She's all I have. Officer... I... Please... tell me it's not..._

Peter looked at the line, tears in his eyes. There was only one person you could be talking about. Belle. Belle had died. Peter didn't know how... all he knew is that his soulmate was not okay. you weren't okay... He needed to be there for you... he needed—

 **(Y/N)'s POV**

 **1983**

Five years. It'd been five years since Belle had died. Hit by a drunk driver on the way home from work. You were 20 when that happened, so technically you were an adult and didn't need to live with Belle anymore, but... Belle was the only one who'd taken care of you. Who cared. You sighed and placed the flowers on her grave.

"I miss you. So much. I wish you were still here. It's been five years since you left... I'm 25 now. I still haven't found Peter, but I will one day. I hope... I hope he's somewhere out there, thinking the same thing.

"I feel like I'm not doing anything productive with my life. I keep going along the same stretch of road, bypassing all the turns and exits. I still have the same job at Baskin Robins. Al

though a few months ago , I got myself a second job as a bartender. It pays good. Real good, actually.

"I'm still writing in my notebooks, all the quotes I get from Peter. It's habit now I suppose... but at least he's not dead.

"Sorry, that was low. Anyways, I have to go. It's getting late and I have places to be. I miss you."

You stood up and left the graveyard, your head bent low to cover the tears.

At home, you sat at your desk, favorite pen in hand and a notebook on the surface of the wood. You waited. Suddenly, the place shook. You got up and looked out the window to see pieces of metal curving in all directions, creating what looked like a magnetic field around the Earth.

The ceiling to your apartment caved in on top of you. You phased through it, but everything else wasn't as lucky as you. Somehow, the already broken building caught aflame. You yelped and dove for the closest possession that mattered: the notebook and your favorite pen. The fire flared up and exploded, you simply phased through the flames, unaffected. But the notebook wasn't so lucky. It caught aflame and fell to the ground in the form of ashes. The pen went too, your concentration on it lost, so that it fell right through your hand.

You cried out, as you fell through the air towards the rubble that was your apartment complex.

You looked at your arm, something told you a line would be written on your skin.

 _You know him? Magneto?_

 _I used to. Not so sure anymore._

 _What was he like?_

 _Was he like they say he was? Was he...the bad guy?_

 _No, I mean, yeah. He was... Why do you care so much? You see his speech on TV or something?_

 _Yeah, but, uh... He's my father._

 _What?_

That was exactly what you were thinking as you tumbled through the air towards the ground. What? What the hell, Peter? Magneto... is what?

Well, at least you were going to die being confused out of your damn mind. How did..? What?

"I love you, Peter." You said, before you hit the ground. Then, everything went black.

 **Peter's POV**

The words hadn't changed in the last few days. Hell, they never even faded. He knew what that meant. You were either dead, or in a coma, which was just as good as dead.

He looked back down at the writing on his skin.

 _I love you, Peter_.

You must've known that you were going to... nope, he wouldn't admit it. You couldn't be dead. He couldn't believe that.

He didn't tell anyone that the letters didn't fade after 7:05 that day. All that he would get is sympathetic looks and "I'm sorry's." He didn't need those right now.

His mind raced back and forth, trying to find some way to find you. He didn't know your name, or your age. All he knew was that last he checked, you lived in San Francisco, California. Too far away. He could've made the trip easy had Apocalypse not broken his leg. Peter healed faster than the average mutant, but he couldn't heal fast enough. Hank said it might take a week or two for Peter to be able to walk again, and at least three before he could run. Until then, it was a full leg cast and crutches.

Peter sighed. He was useless like this. So goddamn useless.

I love you, Peter. I love you. You loved him. You knew his name. And you loved him.

He hobbled his way out of his room. He was going to need help with the stairs...

With help from Kurt, he made his way into one of the few classrooms with a computer. He logged on and looked up: _California woman dies_.

Many results came up, but none of them were you. He just knew that they weren't.

 _San Francisco woman in coma_ , he typed next.

An article popped up at the top of the screen. _Building Collapses on San Francisco Residents._

The first line told him all he needed to know. _San Francisco resident, (Y/F) (Y/L), is the sole survivor of an apartment building collapse— a side affect of the magnetic phenomenon seen on Tuesday._ Peter sighed. That was you, it had to be. He continued reading the article. _She is now in a coma at San Francisco Medical and doctor's are wondering how she is even alive. The 8 story apartment complex completely collapsed and exploded as a result. In the wreckage, first responders found her body, miraculously still alive, without any serious wounds or burns._

Peter reread the article over and over. That was you. He just knew it. You weren't dead, you weren't dead. He blinked back a few tears. He had to get to you, to see you in person, even if you were in a coma.

He reached for the crutches resting against the desk to his left. He struggled, a lot, but after a good five minutes, he got up and hobbled out of the room.

"Hey, Kurt!" He called.

Kurt appeared beside him. "Yes?"

"Could you get me to San Francisco Medical?" Peter questioned, hoping no questions would be asked.

"Umm... no. Iz too far, and I haven't ven there vefore."

Peter sighed, teleportation was out of the question.

 **2 1/2 weeks later**

Peter sighed. In the last two weeks he had tried everything humanly— and muntantly— possible to be able to get himself to San Francisco. Kurt couldn't get him there, nor any of the other traveling-powered mutants. He couldn't drive there because of his leg and the fact that he'd never needed to drive before, so he didn't have a license. He couldn't fly there on an airline because evidently, things like that require money. He was stuck in this godforsaken place with his stupid broken leg and a world that moved too damn slowly.

But today was different, because today the cast was coming off. He'd healed faster than expected, and Hank decided that Peter was actually healthy enough to run. Though, Hank recommended not going long distances. Peter was never very good with rules, or recommendations, or anything that kept him from doing whatever he pleased.

So, the second Hank finished cutting off the cast, Peter was off. Zooming about the place at speeds faster than sound. And, oh, it felt amazing. He went all the way to a pizza place a few miles out before coming back and sitting down right back where he'd been.

"Thanks, man. I feel great. Can I go now?"

"Uh, yeah. But remember, no long distance running. Keep it light for a while, get your bones and muscles used to running again." Hank said.

Peter nodded and was gone. San Francisco was a long way away— 3,000 miles in fact— and Peter had places to be.

He had a plan. Peter knew Hank was right about the long distance running + recently mended leg thing. Peter could already feel his muscles tightening up, not expecting to suddenly have to work. So, Peter went a few miles past the pizza place before stopping at a motel and resting.

That's how it went for the next four days. He'd run a few hundred miles before stopping, resting his leg, eating, and sleeping. Then, and hour or two later, he'd be back at it. It was a slow process, but being in the cast was much slower. Eventually, Peter found himself outside the sliding glass doors to San Francisco Medical.

Peter took a deep breath and walked through the doors. He breathed in the smell of the hospital, already wishing he could get rid of it. He was just here for you.

"Excuse me, I'm here to visit (Y/F) (Y/L). Is she still here?"

The nurse at the counter looked at him, sadness clouding her vision. Peter's heart instantly went into overdrive. What if you had died. What if you weren't okay? Had your condition gotten worse? Why was she looking at him like this?

"I'm sorry, sir. In her current condition, only family members are allowed in."

"Current condition?" Peter questioned, not understanding what that meant.

"Well, you see. Visiting hours for friends were yesterday, today is family only. We don't um... we don't expect her to survive the night."

Peter's heart stopped. He had to see her, now. "Please... I..." He rolled up his sleeve to show the nurse the four words written on his arm. "I came here all the way from New York to see her. I've never even seen her face, and I didn't know her name until three weeks ago when the words stopped moving. My leg was in a full length cast and I couldn't leave the house. I just... I just want to see her."

The nurse looked at him, and read the words on his arm. "Okay, come with me." She said, her voice soft and sad.

Peter followed, seemingly in a daze. He didn't know what to expect. The article hadn't had a picture of her face, and to be fair, Peter wasn't completely positive that (Y/N) was his soulmate. He just hoped.

The nurse led him into a dull room. No flowers sat beside the bed, the tv in the corner was turned off, and the consistent beeping from the monitor fell in time with his rapid breathing.

He stumbled forward, not registering that the nurse was still in the room. God, you were gorgeous. Your skin glowed in a way he didn't think possible, your (Y/HC) hair rested against the pillowcase on your bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her arm to see what words were printed there.

 _You know him? Magneto?_

 _I used to. Not so sure anymore._

 _What was he like?_

 _Was he like they say he was? Was he...the bad guy?_

 _No, I mean, yeah. He was... Why do you care so much? You see his speech on TV or something?_

 _Yeah, but, uh... He's my father._

 _What?_

Peter's breath hitched in his throat. That was the conversation he'd had with Raven three weeks ago, while stuck in the green prison cell. He couldn't believe (Y/N) knew about this... she would hate him.

"You said she wasn't going to make it through the night?" He asked.

"Unfortunately, yes." The nurse said.

Peter leaned down and kissed your forehead. "Well... that sucks. I mean... we don't really know each other. Just... little things. But... " He said, trying to make the situation lighter, but failing miserably.

 **Flashback**

 **New Years, 1970**

 _I love balloons, and party hats. They make everything better, did you know that, Belle?_

 **Present Day**

Peter smiled. Balloons and party hats. They made everything better. Peter turned to the nurse as she was walking out the door.

"Do you know where I can find balloons and party hats?" He asked.

"What?"

"Balloons and party hats. I need some."

"Why?"

"She likes them."

"Oh...well..."

Minutes later he was back in your room with at least twenty balloons and two party hats. He put the party hat on your head and one on his own. He looked around at all of the balloons in the room. Not a single one was the same color. He'd bought blue, pink, yellow, orange, green, white, purple, red, violet, indigo, magenta, silver, gold, blue with pink polka dots, turquoise with a dragon printed on it, one that read "Get Well Soon," one coated in glitter, one that changed colors, one with pink and red hearts all over it, one shaped like a cat, and one that was gigantic and pastel green. He also had gotten flowers for you and put them on the bedside table. He pulled a chair up beside your bed and sat down.

"Hey, I'm Peter." He laughed and looked at the writing on his arm. "But I suppose you already knew my name."

He took your hand. "The doctors say you won't survive the night. Let them be wrong. I brought you some balloons and we both have party hats. I know how much you like those. I also know that they day this happened to you was the anniversary of when Belle died."

Peter shook his head, you wouldn't want to hear about that. "Funny thing is, I came here all the way from New York for you. So like, if you don't wake up soon, I'm gonna be pissed."

He squeezed your hand tighter. "I think you're gorgeous, by the way. I didn't think anyone could look so good in a hospital gown, but you're totally rocking it."

He paused, running out of positive things to say. "Maybe, if you make it through this... you could come up to New York with me. I know you're different... I know you're a mutant like me. And there's this place... a school you could come stay at." He kissed the top of your hand. "We could be together... safe, safe and together. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a win win situation." He laughed, "I mean, together and safe. That's unheard of for the two of us."

He thought he saw you smile. But your face hadn't moved. He was just imagining what he wanted to see.

After a few hours of talking to you, Peter found himself animatedly retelling his favorite stories. How he punched Apocalypse in the face and got his leg broken in return, how he saved a bunch of kids from an exploding school, how he'd broken his dad out of prison in the Pentagon and didn't know it was him, how one time he stole two hundred Twinkies and got away with it. Things like that.

He was in the middle of retelling one that made everyone laugh when a nurse knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and revealed the nurse from earlier. "Yes, I'm just here to... woah."

Peter looked around at the bright decorations in the room and shrugged. "She likes balloons."

"No kidding."

Peter smiled, "I was in the middle of telling her about this one time that I had a language barrier issue and invited a waiter into the bathroom to say goodbye to my poop."

"What?."

"It's everyone's favorite, I have never lived it down."

The nurse barked a laugh. "It sounds like a very interesting story, please, don't let me stop you from telling it."

Peter smiled and continued on, using his narrator's voice to describe the moment.

"So, my mom and I were visiting Spain, yeah? And I was in a restaurant. Anyways, I had to use the restroom. So that's what I did, but when I went to flush, it didn't work. I tried so many times to get it down, but it just wouldn't flush. Anyways, I decided that for once in my life I was going to do the right thing. I'm not just going to do a hit and run and leave it for someone else. Though, looking back on it, that would have been best. Anyways, I went out and told someone that there was a problem with their toilet. But no one there spoke English and I sure as hell didn't speak any Spanish. I was only 16, by the way. So, I ended up gesturing to this man to come here. 'Yes, could you please come here. No, no no, leave them alone, just follow me!'" Peter spoke animatedly, using large movements and silly facial expressions. "I ushered him into the toilet and pointed at my poo. I went to flush and... it went down straight away. And I just... lost all sense of control and bolted right out of that restaurant. How weird did I look? Like I just invited this poor waiter into the restroom to say goodbye to my shit." Peter gave an wave down to an imaginary toilet.

The nurse was trying not to laugh, he could tell. "Don't worry, it's fine if you laugh. That was about eleven years ago, I'm over my embarrassment now. I just tell the story because it never fails to make someone laugh."

The nurse burst out with laughter. "I can't believe you actually told that story with me in the room."

"I tell that story no matter who's in the room." Peter grinned.

"It's a good story."

"Yeah," Peter sighed. "I've heard that some comatose people can still hear things happening around them. I guess I just want her to be laughing before she goes. She was always so sad."

The mood dropped. "I think she will be."

Peter smiled again. "She had better be, otherwise I've been telling stories for hours for no good reason."

The nurse smiled at him, "I'll leave you two alone now."

Peter nodded and opened the door for her.

Once the nurse was gone, Peter found himself alone in the room with you once again. Except, now he was out of stories. He'd told every funny, sad, and embarrassing story he could think of. He sighed and moved towards the chair next to your bed. He sat down in it and propped his feet up on the bed. He grabbed your hand and rubbed it gently with his thumb.

"Goodnight, (Y/N). I love you."

He fell asleep quickly, comforted by the rhythmic beeping of the monitor that told him you were still alive and the warmth of your intertwined hands.

 **(Y/N) POV**

You woke up multiple times during the night, but you didn't remember much, nor did you stay awake for more than a few seconds. Little snippets of the scenery were all you could register before you fell back into a coma. A dark sky out the window, but light indoors. Bursts of color. A man with a party hat on. Beeping.

Only, at one point, you actually woke up. Outside the window, you saw the beginnings of a sunrise. There were twenty balloons around you, none of them the same. Flowers rested in a vase of the table beside the hospital bed. A man sat in a chair next to you, holding your hand. It was strange, he was wearing a party hat. Wait... he was holding your hand. Why was he holding your hand? Who was he? Did you know him? Certainly not. You would have remembered it had you met someone as hot as him. He had gorgeous silver locks and a ridiculous looking silver, leather jacket. Somehow he made it work. Still, you didn't know him. How had you even gotten here? Was this a hospital? What the hell was happening?

You pulled your hand out of his, trying not to wake him. You didn't know who he was, but you felt like you shouldn't wake him.

The man awoke anyways. His eyes snapped open and he looked at you. "What?"

You looked at him, confused.

"You're awake?"

You nodded, still not sure who he was.

"You're awake!" He exclaimed. In blur of silver that you couldn't comprehend fast enough, the man was on top of you. His silver hair fell into your face, his face was _very_ close to yours. You saw his eyes, their brown depths shined with the energy and excitement of a puppy.

You found your voice all of the sudden. "Who the fuck are you?"

Then he was off of you in a split second, so fast you didn't even see it. He was standing a foot or two away from the bed now, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I got a bit excited. The doctors didn't expect you to survive the night, much less wake up."

You didn't register that, instead you asked the question again. "Yes, okay, but who are you?"

"Oh! Right, sorry. This is a terrible first impression... um-" Then, he was right next to the bed and held his hand out to you. "I'm Peter Maximoff."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Peter. He was... Peter? This was Peter? Holy shit. You snapped your jaw shut after realizing that your mouth had fallen right open at his name. He grinned at that.

You planned to say your name and introduce yourself, but that is not what happened. "Your hair... is silver. Peter, why the fuck is your hair silver?"

His smile faltered. "I... don't know. Just my mutation, I guess."

"Sorry, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, um... shit. I meant to say hi. Can we try that again?"

Peter laughed, and oh dear lord it was adorable. It was like music. No, it was better.

"Yeah, sure. Though, I can't believe the first words you've said to me were "who the fuck are you."

You laughed, "In my defense, I haven't met you before this." You remembered that you still hadn't introduced yourself. "Um.. . I'm (Y/N). " You held out your hand like he had earlier. He took it and you shook hands.

"You know, you gave me quite the scare when the words didn't go away." He said.

"Not my fault, your dad's the one that caused the building to collapse in the first place."

"Oh... I was hoping you wouldn't have remembered that." Peter looked down at his feet. You sighed.

"I think its cool. I mean, not the almost destroying the world part, but that Magneto is your father."

"I don't, he's an asshole who can't figure out that I'm his son."

"Well, yeah... I can see how that might be annoying." You told him.

He smiled and looked back at you. "Not that I should be complaining, your parents were the worst."

"Oh, definitely."

"You're a mutant, like me, right?" He asked, uncertain.

You nodded. "You're very fast, by the way."

He grinned, "What's your mutation?"

"I can phase through things, or become super heavy, like _very_ heavy."

"That's cool. I assume that's how you survived the collapse."

"Yeah, but, it doesn't help much when you're falling." You joked.

A soft knock came at the door. Peter was there in a second, swinging it open. You could see the wide grin on his face even though his back was to you.

"She's awake." He practically screamed at the nurse, his excitement going a bit over the top.

"What?" The nurse whispered.

"Hi!" You called at her, waving.

She waved back, confused. To Peter she whispered, "What did you do?"

"Nothing. Though, I did make a terrible first impression."

"I didn't do much better." You said, smiling.

The nurse spent the next forever checking your vitals and asking you questions and twenty other people came in, mostly interns. All the while, Peter made ridiculous faces in the background, making you laugh.

After a while, everyone cleared out and it was just you and Peter once again.

"I know it's weird, but I feel like I've known you my entire life." He said, taking your hand gently.

You didn't freeze necessarily, but it felt like time slowed down. It came to you that this was Peter. The boy you'd been waiting to meet since you were ten years old. He was right here, supporting you and holding your hand. You squeezed his hand gently. "I... I feel the same. I—" Your voice broke and you started crying.

Mentally, you were slapping yourself. Crying was weak, and you couldn't be weak. But outwardly, you registered the fast motion of Peter as he wrapped himself around you and held you tight. You felt a few of his tears hit the skin on your neck. You were both so pathetic, crying in each other's arms in a hospital room. You'd only met a hour ago— at most— and now you understood why he was your soulmate. He was your soulmate because the two of you could be weak together. He didn't care about the tears sliding down your face because tears of his own were sliding down his. You understood that he would be there for you, and you vowed to yourself that you wouldn't let yourself and him become like your parents. You wouldn't let the two of you get so angry at each other all the time that you split up.

You leaned away from Peter's arms and his hand came to your face to wipe away your tears.

"(Y/N), you're so beautiful. I want to kiss you right now... I want to kiss you all the time."

You paused, he was being honest. Another thing that was so different from your parents. They always kept their secrets, from you and each other. This boy, this _man,_ wasn't afraid to tell you exactly how he felt. You knew you could trust him.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped—"

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. You honestly hadn't planned to, but you couldn't stop yourself. The kiss wasn't even close to magical, it was better. It was indescribable. He leaned into the kiss and you couldn't think anymore. It was just you and him in that moment, and you didn't think it would ever end.


End file.
